


Blister in the Night

by plastics



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Anal Sex, Cavity Search, Humiliation, Jealousy, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Police Brutality, Sexual Coercion, Sibling Incest, Unwilling Arousal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28025322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plastics/pseuds/plastics
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a group of teenagers in possession of a good supply of shitty booze, must be in want of a discreet location to perform all flavors of degenerate behavior.Unfortunately for them, Blue Hill is not a large town.
Relationships: Cop/His Trouble-Making Teenage Brother, OMC/OMC
Comments: 16
Kudos: 109
Collections: Consent Issues Exchange 2020





	Blister in the Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [furchte_die_schildkrote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/furchte_die_schildkrote/gifts).



It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a group of teenagers in possession of a good supply of shitty booze, must be in want of a discreet location to perform all flavors of degenerate behavior.

Unfortunately for them, Blue Hill is not a large town. Robert reminisces on his Homecoming Nights and Spring Flings as he drives down the familiar dirt roads behind the old Donovan farm. The turnoff towards the clearing has only gotten more worn down in recent years, but the old cruiser still rattles hard.

He sees the glow of the bonfire from awhile off, and when his partner cuts off the radio, he can make out the rumblings of the kids’ overly loud music, and their preening on top of that. It’d be almost charmingly predictable if it wasn’t for the trouble: cars speeding down only mostly abandoned streets, things more valuable than a Snickers gone missing, and everyone knows what that Axtell boy’s cousins are getting up to the next county over.

They scope out the group for a moment as they parked. Then they give the siren a single sharp _wup_ before lighting up the roof. Red and blue flash off shocked white faces, a few of the sharper members of the back already running. A few will undoubtedly drain out on Turner, where there’s another patrol car waiting. Realistically, tonight is just the department’s own little scared straight operation. A reminder that little goes unnoticed. Robert enjoys the role, standing tall and serious as he pinned the remaining few kids down with a glare. 

He spots a flash of white out of the corner of his eye, and for a moment he thinks that one of them may actually be trying something. Then the back of a shockingly blond head pops back up over the shrubs for a brief moment, followed by the sound of more frantic ruffling and hissed whispers, and, ah, hell.

Officer John Mueller is a good man, just like his daddy. They’re good stock. How the youngest turned out this way is a mystery.

“Please don’t call him,” the kid is begging, even with the rest of his friends crammed into the back of the cruiser. Boy’s got sense. Robert is half-tempted to write him off as-is, but this town owes the Muellers better than that. In a few years time, he’ll either have straightened out or they’ll all be able to say they tried.

“We either call Jack now, or we call your daddy once we get back to the station,” Officer Wilson responds with more sympathy than the sentence necessarily deserves. 

Besides, the call has already been made.

🚨🚨🚨

  
  


Jack’s car smells of dirt and sweat. Thinly sweet, like spilled beer. It’s seen worse, objectively. But on a personal level—

He glances in his rearview mirror again. Christian is still staring out the window sullenly. _Can’t you put me in the front?_ he’d whined. Jack should have knocked him harder as he shoved him through the back door. Should’ve cuffed him, left him without the seatbelt, shown him what a real rough ride could look like, see if _that’s_ what it took to crack into that thick skull.

His hair has only gotten longer since the last time Jack saw him, crossing properly into girlish ringlets. Jack’s own hair hasn’t been allowed to grow past a half-inch since he was nine. What are Mom and Dad even doing with this kid? 

“They said they caught you with your pants down back in the woods. With another boy,” Jack says, fingers flexing on the steering wheel.

“Oh my fucking God,” Christian groans, eyes rolling back so hard his head went with them before it dropped into his hands, and that pisses Jack off, too. Who is this person, taking the Lord’s name in vain, hiding from his brother? It doesn’t feel so long ago that Jack was his hero, the tree to his shadow. He’d been shy, yes, less athletic, hadn’t fit in with the other boys as easily as Jack, but that’s no excuse to slide into this sort of behavior. They’re supposed to be better than that. Jack has worked so, so hard to be better.

“Watch your mouth,” Jack snaps back. “You’re lucky that you have people in this town who care about you. In this car. Because those kids back there, I promise you they are not going to have your back in the long run.”

“Yeah, Jack, I can agree with that. And it’ll happen the minute I have to walk back into that shitty school with everyone knowing I have a fucking narc for a brother who decided to fuck my friends over for a thrill,” Christian says, locking eyes in the rearview mirror. They’re red, hazy. He’s drunk, Jack knows for sure now.

Jack’s heart hammers in his chest. None of this is right. He can feel himself speeding—if he runs into another car, he’ll have to turn on his siren, but it’s unlikely on these backroads, at this point in the night. The kid’s curfew started hours ago.

The plan was to just go back to Jack’s apartment, having a discussion about risk and propriety, how to play the long game, then they’d watch a movie or something to prove that Jack is still just his older brother, someone he could trust. He’d already worked a draining ten-hour shift and had been looking forward to a quick shower and quicker meal before going to sleep, but it’d be worth it for Christian. But maybe he should just drive straight home if Christian has so much contempt for him and his profession. Pass everything on to Dad and let him straighten Christian out. Something clearly has gone wrong in that house. This is as good a wakeup call as any, right?

 _“No,”_ Christian says, suddenly up close to the bulletproof glass separating them, hands on one of the support poles he should be cuffed to. “You know you can’t do that. You _know_ he’d— he can’t know. That I’m. It’s not even like I’m doing half the shit as the other guys. He’d kill me.”

“You know what will literally kill you? A life of crime. Do you know how frequently underage substance abuse leads to—”

“Oh my god,” Christian wails again as he drops back into the seat. “Of course they’ve got you doing D.A.R.E. It’s not like I’m on meth or anything.”

Jack’s blood is boiling. He takes his job seriously. In every moment, from applying to the academy until now, he has known the responsibility that comes with authority, held tight the virtue of fair treatment.

But it’s always different when it’s family.

Sudden enough to jolt, Jack pulls onto the side of the road and cuts off the engine. He ignores Christian’s questioning, “What are you doing?” as he steps out of the car, slamming the door behind him. The weather finally turned last week, but the cold isn’t harsh enough to snap him back into his senses.

It’s satisfying to feel Christian stumble as he drags him out, as well, Jack being the only thing to keep him upright as he shut the door again and pushed Christian up again.

“Seriously, dude,” Christian says, and finally he looks like he’s taking any of this seriously, fear starting to creep into his voice.

“You raised a good point, Christian,” Jack says, his own voice falling into the cool delivery he’d perfected for nervous perps that needed to be coaxed into making the right decision. “I have no idea what you’ve been getting up to. What you might be trying to hide. Open your mouth.”

Jack withdraws his flashlight and flicks it out. It’s even more satisfying to watch Christian flinch back, eyes squinting against the harsh light. Up close, Jack can now make out the pink stains on his brother’s neck.

“I—I’m pretty sure I have rights. Related to this.”

“If you were arrested, you would,” Jack says. “But you’re not yet. Unless you want to be.”

Christian is right, of course. No unnecessarily touching, by a professional in a more sanitary and private location than in the fields surrounding Blue Hill. But he doesn’t push harder. After a brief hesitation, he acquiesces with the smallest drop of his jaw. 

Jack pushes his head back farther, shines the light up his nose, in his ears, then returns that temptingly pink mouth. He pries it further open, just hard enough to let Christian know playtime is over, then slides his pointer and middle finger inside. Christian’s panting breath is hot against the back of his hand as Jack slides his fingers along Christian’s gums, against the silky membrane of his cheeks, under his tongue then over it, reaching back far enough to make Christian gag. He’s meticulous, double-checking his work, then triple-checking. 

Christian is obedient throughout, but grimaces when Jack finally retracts, snapping his mouth shut firmly even as his eyes burn. 

Thoroughness is the key to all good police work.

His jeans fall easily from narrow hips, but they don’t get far before Christian’s hands jerk outwards. “What the hell are you doing!?” he demands, voice cracking.

“Completing the cavity search,” Jack says, like it’s obvious. Acting like you have any clue what you’re doing is the other part of good police work.

 _“What?_ That’s not—Jack, come on, this is insane. I get it, okay? Drugs are bad, being on the wrong side of the law is bad, can we just consider this lesson taught?”

“If you’re going to continue to interfere with this search, I will be forced to handcuff you,” Jack says, voice still holding onto that forced ease. He’s stronger than Christian, much stronger, but suddenly he wanted to see his brother’s thin wrists clinched between silver cuffs, so he turns Christian around, drops the flashlight to the ground, and unclips his set. It’s short work to get them on, maybe just a hair too tight. It’s even shorter to pull his jeans and boxers out of the way, finally.

Jack kneels to the ground and retrieves his flashlight from the ground.

“You’re fucking nuts!” Christian says, voice high and panicked. _Good,_ Jack thinks, _he should be._ “You can’t do this! What happened to squatting and coughing or whatever?”

“What, you’re suddenly some expert on police procedures now?” Jack sneers. “But, you know, maybe we could have done that, if you hadn’t made me cuff. You would have needed to hold yourself open.”

“Oh my god,” Christian whimpers once more. “Jack, please. Please don’t do this. I really am sorry. I’m sorry for being a dick and a screw-up and making bad choices, I swear I’ll stop, but please don’t do this.”

His fingers strain from their constraints to stop Jack, but they’re useless as he brings his free hand to Christian’s skinny cheek and holds him open for inspection. It glistens in the light.

Jack freezes. He feels his entire tighten reflexively with rage. The sounds of Christian’s crying out is drowned out by the rush in his ears. Still, his voice is even as he says, “So this is it, then? You’re too good to respect your family, religion, or law, but getting bent over in the middle of the woods with the rest of your buddies ten feet away is a great way to spend a Wednesday evening?”

“He didn’t—I don’t. I don’t think I’m good,” Christian says, miserable, but of course he’s miserable now that he’s been caught. Jack’s reserve hardens. 

He brings the same two fingers to his brother’s hole. The spit has already mostly evaporated, but despite his denial, Christian is loose enough to take them to the last knuckle with one hard, steady push, despite his cries.

Christian holds onto him so tight like this, a hot vice. Jack twists his fingers, then retracts them just for the feeling of being enveloped again. Adds a third finger, just to see if he can. He’s not sure what he’s looking for. Images some sort of claim left behind by that other little deviant that he can take away, and with it everything that has ruined his brother. Ruined them.

He does find something that makes Christian jerk and squeak, so he presses at it again and gets the same reaction. He drops the flashlight again to have an extra hand to hold Christian open with; the moon is full enough to give him decent visibility, even this far out.

 _Fucking pervert,_ Jack thinks to himself as Christian’s legs tremble. When he withdraws his fingers, he can see as Christian’s hole briefly squeezes shut then gapes back open, the circumference of his pinky.

Jack stands. He reaches around and palms Christian’s cock. It’s hot to the touch. Hardening.

“You know,” he says conversationally, “people can be really sneaky when they’re desperate. Sometimes we have to search foreskins, if the suspect has one. Swap the urethra.”

Christian jerks back hard, but it only bumps him as back as Jack’s chest, and his hand follows the movement easy. He begs, “Please don’t.”

“Don’t have the materials,” Jack agrees. “Besides, it doesn’t feel like we have to worry about a blockage.”

He thumbs at Christian’s leaking slit to prove his point before letting go and taking a half-step back. He watches as Christian exhales and his whole body goes loose with relief. “Thank you,” he says, before the sound of a belt being undone echoes out. 

Christian gets two steps away, pants still around his knees, before Jack catches up and slams him down on the hood of his car. The appeal of the position is immediately apparent. Jack feels as powerful as he ever has since he got his badge. He only needs one hand to pin Christian as he lines his cock up to his hole, his whole body thrumming with need for release, power, something to prove himself as in control.

Jack can’t control his own groan as his cock is enveloped. He hasn’t been a saint, waiting for marriage, but nothing he’s done thus far compares to the fervid clench of his brother’s hole, pre-used as it may be. Pure instinct drives him forward, retreating only to feel it all again, like he could literally dig himself deeper inside, somewhere only he could reach.

They’ll always have their blood, but if that’s not enough for Christian, this will have to be.

He’s so caught up he barely notices when Christian’s squirming and protests pick up, not until the other car is already practically on top of them. His head jerks up, deer caught dick-deep in headlines, and he goes cold until those fraternal red-and-blues flash. Jack can’t make out any words as it speeds by, but the tone is celebratory, encouraging. The vehicle itself is old, colors indicating that it isn’t anyone local.

Even if it was, probably only a handful of people could have put the pieces together, and none of them would have believed it. _Jack,_ fucking someone on the side of the road, the same night he’s escorting his baby brother home? Never in a million years.

He thrusts even harder, invigorated, then fists a hand in Christian’s hair to pull his face up so he could see that teary, helpless expression for himself. When Christian clenches his eyes closed, Jack says, vicious, “Don’t worry, with these fucking curls, they probably just assumed you were a girl anyway.”

Christian grimaces, either because of Jack’s dick or his words, so he keeps going, “That would have been easier for you, huh? You take cock as well as any girl. Just as desperate for it. Could get the boys lined up down the block.”

Even the hypothetical enrages Jack. Suddenly, he wants to ruin Christian, work him over so hard it’ll be obvious to anyone who takes a second glance at him, even if that apparently doesn’t include Mom and Dad anymore. He fits his cleaner fingers back into Christian’s mouth, hooking him in place, and latches onto his neck, biting down, leaving behind a trail of big, sucking marks. It’s easier now to hear the noises that Christian is trying—and largely failing—to swallow down.

He reaches down, and Christian is even harder now, twitching and wet. “Such a fucking slut,” Jack grunts, and a handful of tugs later, Christian is shaking, coming on Jack’s cruiser, tensing ever tighter on Jack’s cock. Milking him dry.

Between tucking himself away and freeing Christian, Jack takes a moment to assess his work. Come is already trailing messy and wet out of Christian’s hole, still open wide by Jack’s dick. He thinks, maybe, that he’d jumped to conclusions earlier. Maybe they’d been interrupted earlier. Maybe _Jack_ had been the first.

Good.

Christian is still in the back once they start driving again, but he doesn’t whine anymore, finally properly repentant. Jack gives him most of the drive back to town to compose himself.

“Do you still want to come back with me, or should I drop you off at home?” Jack says, once again staring back in the rearview mirror, only now, his brother wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Christian exhales shakily. He says, “Your place is fine.”


End file.
